“Only when those pallbearer guys carried it around and woke me up,” Garrick said, shooting a peeved look off camera.
“Are you saying you were asleep in there?” asked Serena Star, her wide eyes widening even further.
“Yeah,” Garrick answered. “I slept like I was dead.”
Ivy winced as Serena Star shook her head in disbelief. “You almost sound like you enjoyed yourself.”
Garrick shrugged.
“Mr. Stephens,” Serena Star said, a hint of disapproval in her voice, “what kind of person sleeps in a coffin?”
“It wasn’t my idea.” Garrick shrugged.
“Oh?” said Serena Star. “Whose idea was it?”
Garrick was about to answer, but then he seemed to think better of it. He crossed his arms. “I don’t want to get them into trouble.”
“Are you saying the people who did this to you are friends of yours?” Serena Star asked.
“Totally,” Garrick replied, grinning.
“You mean—”
“We’re the kings of Franklin Grove Middle School!” Garrick cried, mugging wildly. “Yo, Kyle, Ricky, Dylan! I’m on TV!”
What an utter dork! thought Ivy.
“What exactly did your friends have in mind?” Serena Star probed.
“They dared me to climb in,” Garrick explained, his eyes glinting mischievously. “That’s why I did it.”
Ivy could tell Garrick was lying from the smug look on his face. He was just pretending it was a dare to avoid revealing any vampire secrets—like the fact that they slept in coffins. Still, it was a pretty lame alibi, especially because he kept going on about how it was “the best sleep” of his life.
“The Interna 3 is the sweetest coffin ever,” he gushed, grabbing the microphone. “When they say ‘rest in peace,’ they mean it!”
“Mr. Stephens, please,” Serena interrupted. “That still doesn’t explain how you ended up at Mr. Koontz’s funeral.”
“Oh, right. My friends just sort of thought it would be funny to leave me in there—thanks a lot guys!” Garrick winked. “Then the funeral home got the coffins mixed up. Did you know the Interna 3 is the best-selling coffin in America?”
Serena Star yanked the microphone away. “Are we to believe that this was really just an innocent student prank?” she said to Garrick, who shrugged again.
“Or,” she continued, turning slowly to the camera, “is there something more sinister at work?”
Uh-oh. Ivy thought. Serena Star smells blood. “Clearly, a gruesome obsession with death,” Serena went on as the camera zoomed in for a close-up of her shocked face, “nearly cost this misguided young misfit his life!”
“Who are you calling misguided?” Garrick’s voice whined off-screen.
“And he isn’t alone,” Serena said, ignoring Garrick. “One look around this sleepy town reveals a dark obsession consuming the minds of its children.” The live feed cut briefly to footage of the mall, showing a group of Goth sixth-graders.
“Are the youth of America next?” Serena asked ominously, as she reappeared on-screen. Then she frowned with determination. “I, Serena Star, will not rest until I find out the evil truth behind what’s happening here.”
Oh no, Ivy thought. She’s going to say that line of hers.
“Because the Star of truth must shine!” Serena Star declared dramatically, pumping her microphone in the air. It really was the worst journalistic sign-off Ivy had ever heard. “This is Serena Star. Wake up, America!”
A commercial came on, and Ivy’s dad shut off the TV. “You must promise me,” he said, “that if you are ever on television, you will make a better impression than that boy Garrick Stephens.”
“It’s not funny, Dad,” Ivy said. “If Serena Star starts seriously investigating Goths in Franklin Grove, you know what she might find. What if she scoops the existence of vampires? None of us will ever be safe again!”
Her father put down his tea. “Ivy,” he said, “we are talking about a woman best known for her special exposé on the footwear of the rich and famous! I very much doubt she’s capable of finding any real proof. Besides, the moment there’s a new bit of Hollywood gossip, Serena Star will forget all about Franklin Grove.”
Ivy sighed. “I hope you’re right,” she said, standing up to take her empty bowl into the kitchen, “because if not, it’s going to be really hard to get Marshmallow Platelets around here.”
As they pulled up in front of Franklin Grove Middle School on Monday morning, Olivia Abbott was applying her pink lipstick in the visor mirror when she heard her mother gasp. Olivia flipped up the visor to see the front steps of the school packed with people and a string of TV news vans lining the curb.
“Wow!” said Olivia. Her mother double-parked and started to get out of the car.
Olivia grabbed her mom’s arm. “Where are you going?”
“I want to see what all the commotion’s about,” her mother replied.
Olivia shook her head. “You can’t come with me into school.”
“Why not?” her mother asked.
“Because I’m in eighth grade,” Olivia explained.
Olivia’s mom smiled and shook her head. “Well, okay,” she said with a sigh.
“It’s not you,” Olivia assured her. “It’s all mothers. It’s like a rule. I’ll call you.” And, with that, Olivia pecked her mom on the cheek, climbed out of the car, and squeezed between two news vans.